


The Space in My Bed

by ab2fsycho



Series: Revolve [2]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: I'm not sorry, M/M, SO, because it's the very soul of this ship for me, i'm ignoring vital info and i'm not sorry, i'm just gonna keep using that tag, layton is very interesting while he's asleep, more stalker descole, this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when Layton starts to slowly grow accustomed to a certain nightly visitor, something interesting happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space in My Bed

“Have you lost your hat again, Professor?” Luke asked.

“Indeed,” Layton answered, though he knew very well that no, he had not lost his hat. Glancing behind various pieces of furniture, he wondered when this little game would end. When Descole felt like ending it, he thought to himself.

It had been a week since the encounter that had brought them face to face and still Layton had not told anyone about it. Why? Not even he could understand what exactly was going through his own mind right then. Somehow it made sense just to let Descole do as he pleased. He was going to do as he pleased no matter what, and alerting others of his activities just might instigate a fight he would either win or dodge completely. He still wasn’t doing anything harmful. The only thing he’d truly done that might seem suspicious to those closest to Layton was hide Layton’s hat in odd places. It seemed he was getting more creative, as well. Scratching the top of his exposed head, he started moving around books on their shelves. Perhaps it was hiding among them, although he failed to see how he could possibly miss such a large hat among his textbooks.

No, Descole had not done anything injurious. Well, aside from jab a needle into Layton’s neck. That classified as injurious. Although, Layton had to admit that the rest was pleasant after having stayed up so long to catch Descole in the act of breaking in. The encounter had frightened Layton. He was beyond denying that, but ultimately it had left him better equipped to deal with Descole than his previous tactics had. Layton still wondered why Descole was interested in him enough to stalk him, but he would receive no answer other than Descole found him fascinating. He was certain he would receive no answer. For now. Descole made it clear he didn’t want Layton interfering at this juncture in time. As long as Luke and Emmy weren’t at risk, Layton saw no harm in simply ignoring his silent intruder.

He didn’t sleep quite as deeply anymore knowing there was a possibility Descole might reappear, and he wasn’t positive about how long he could put up with the little games his masked rival had begun to play. Hiding his hat was just one game. The others involved finding little messages in strange places, or picking up on how Descole had rearranged certain items such as books or food. He never took anything. He just hid or changed the placement of various objects. If anything, he left rather than took possessions. One time Descole had gone through and placed a bookmark inside of every book Layton had within his residence. How he’d accomplished such a feat in one night, Layton would never understand. 

With a huff, Layton stared up at the ceiling. That’s when he saw it, hanging from a light fixture just within reach. “Now how did it get up there?” Luke asked curiously.

“I must be sleepwalking again,” Layton fabricated as he pulled down the hat and placed it on his head. Grabbing his suitcase, he headed for the door. “Let’s not keep Emmy waiting, shall we?”

“Right,” Luke said cheerfully, forgetting the dilemma with the hat almost immediately.



How precious, Descole thought. Did the professor realize the Triton child had nicknamed one of his stuffed animals after him? Not the teddy bear, but another stuffy that was nestled in the crook of the boy’s arm. Descole couldn’t quite identify what it was, but he’d heard the boy whisper something to it before falling asleep. Adorable. 

He found it interesting that neither Luke nor Layton sensed his presence in the residence, even though he’d arrived moments before they’d actually fallen asleep. Moving through the place silently and effortlessly, he glimpsed a textbook lying on the couch. Picking it up, he didn’t recognize the title. However, he did recognize the bookmark sticking out of the top. Fascinating. The professor actually used one of the simple slips of paper Descole had left for him. With a small smile, Descole laid the book on a side table.

Slipping through the rooms, he located Layton’s hat. His grin widening, he sought out the perfect hiding place for it. It was a childish game, but he couldn’t resist forcing the gentleman to go without his hat longer than was average. Once he’d stowed the hat away, he lurched back to Layton’s room. The professor was lying on his stomach, one arm dangling over the side of the bed. Even breaths, eyes relaxed, nothing suspicious caught Descole’s attention. Assuring himself that Layton actually was asleep, he waited a few minutes before stepping further into the room. Scratching his chin, he found that he’d lost interest in the surroundings and instead was focusing in on the man himself. Sometimes he caught himself doing that in time to stop and continue his perusing. Sometimes he remembered he was here to sift through Layton’s personal belongings in hopes of learning more about Layton’s history. He already knew a great deal about the man from outside sources, but he was determined to learn more. He was not supposed to be looming over the professor while he slept. He was supposed to glance, then continue onward and outward. However, he wasn’t moving. He kept staring at Layton, wondering how steady his heartbeat was. It wouldn’t hurt to check, now would it?

Stepping closer and reaching out, he paused with his hand just over Layton’s back. He became overly focused on the man’s shoulder blades, of all things. He focused on how Layton’s breathing made the bones and muscles of his chest and back expand and contract, his body flexing to accommodate his autonomic responses, and Descole just couldn’t look away and he didn’t know why. His hand hovering over the spot between the professor’s shoulders, it hardly registered with him that his head was tilting to the side. What was it about this ordinary, boring man that was so fascinating? Though Descole knew his name and history—their history, really—the professor was someone foreign and unknown, and there was a part of Descole that acknowledged that no matter how much research he did, he would never know Layton as well as he’d like.

That thought was enough to jolt him back to reality. Pulling his hand back under the safety of his cape, he turned away. Ready to resume his search for information, he elected to ignore the man lying in the bed. That is, until something grabbed his cape. The pressure on his neck stunned him, and had he not been so surprised by the pull he might have shouted. As it was, the only noise he made was a small squeak in response to being pulled backwards and almost stumbling and falling on top of the bed. Before he completely lost his balance, he untied his cape and let it go. Taking a deep breath and rubbing his throat under his boa, he turned to see just what had happened. What he discovered was almost laughable: Layton rolled over onto his back with Descole’s cape tucked sloppily around him like a blanket. Pursing his lips and fighting the urge to unleash the mixture of frustration and amusement welling up inside him, he searched for a method of reclaiming his cape without waking the man. Sighing, he inched back over to the bed, hands held out as if searching for the best possible spot to begin his repossession. Layton had the cape drawn up under his chin, hands hidden from his view. The only way he was going to find out where the professor’s hands were involved pulling the cape and finding the pressure points. He was relying heavily on the fact that Layton was a deep sleeper. If this didn’t work, things could get interesting. Descole found himself wishing he’d come carrying the sedative he’d used on Layton the week before. It wasn’t like he carried hypodermic needles on his person all the time. He typically had no need for them, but they would have been useful right then and there.

Before he had a well-placed grip on his cape, Layton started moving again. The professor rolled over onto his side and, to Descole’s surprise and horror, latched onto Descole’s arm and pulled the limb to his chest. Inevitably, Descole wound up face to face with the still fast asleep Professor Layton. 

This just wouldn’t do. Hunched over and growing increasingly uncomfortable, Descole wanted desperately out of Layton’s grasp. However, the man’s grip was iron and there was no way Descole was going to get out of this without waking Layton up. For someone so calm and cool in the daytime, the professor was incredibly friendly at night. Perhaps Descole should take one of the Triton child’s stuffed animals and slip it into Layton’s grasp at night.

Testing Layton’s hold on his arm, he confirmed with himself that the professor wasn’t budging. He’d just have to wait and see if Layton intended to release him that night. Goddammit Layton, Descole thought. His back was starting to hurt from hunching over like this, and he was going to be stuck with Layton ‘cuddling’ his arm for a while. At least, that’s what he suspected. With that in mind, he elected to make himself more comfortable. Slipping into the bed beside the professor, he slowly began to relax next to his rival. Layton still clung to his arm, his grip strong and his face buried against Descole’s bicep. The feeling of having someone that close to him was unusual. The level of intimacy in what he was witnessing was slightly disturbing, yet at the same time familiar. He didn’t want to like this. He didn’t want to savor the complete and utter lack of inhibitions in the sleeping professor. Yet here he was, facing the consequences of his momentary lapse in judgment. This was not part of the plan.

But Descole would have to wait for the professor to let him go. He supposed he could unwind until then, provided he kept his unsettling feelings at bay.



That night while Layton lay in bed, he awoke for but a moment to find that he wasn’t alone. It was the first time he had found himself roused to consciousness since the incident. At first he felt like he was suffocating, like there was a pillow pressed right up against his face. The only problem was the substance was too hard and _alive_ to be a pillow.

As Layton came fully awake, his heart began pounding. In the process of coming out of the fog, he started gathering a mental image of just where he and the intruder in his bed were touching. Layton’s head rested in the crook of his neck, forehead greeted by the softness of a certain white boa. One of Layton’s arms was thrown over the other man’s waist. The intruder’s arms were wrapped securely around Layton’s shoulders, their legs . . . Layton promptly put the thought of what their legs were doing out of his mind. Suddenly it registered in Layton’s mind that the object resting on the top of his head was actually Descole’s chin.

A thousand inquiries and theories ran through Layton’s mind, but the honest first thing to occur to him was that this was what Descole had meant when he’d said Layton tended to be rather affectionate in his sleep. It seemed Layton had rolled right into this situation, so to speak. Still, that didn’t detract from the fact that he was lying in bed with his rival wrapped around him like . . . he wasn’t even sure what this was like. He wasn’t even sure he should feel as comfortable as he did. This was far beyond the usual stalking. This surpassed the typical invasion of privacy. He was certain he should be getting up and running or fighting, and yet he remained.

“Descole?” he asked quietly. Luke was staying over in Layton’s spare bedroom that night, so staying quiet was essential. However, Descole didn’t answer and Layton’s heart rate only quickened. “Descole, are you asleep?” Still no answer came from the surprisingly still man. As Layton counted Descole’s breaths and continued listening, he realized that the other man truly was asleep. Now how had that come to fruition? Shifting a little so he was looking into Jean Descole’s face, he realized it was impossible to tell anything with the man’s mask on. In the dark, Layton could see the man’s mouth was slightly open and that the blanket covering them was actually Descole’s cape.

Whether he was still dazed from having just woken up or if it was out of pure and genuine curiosity, Layton would never know what led him to reach up and touch his fingers to the chin that had been resting on his head a mere moment ago. The smooth, clean jaw surprised him with its warmth. He wasn’t sure why he had expected Descole’s skin to be cool, but he had. Adjusting his hand so that his palm lay flat on the other man’s cheek, he heard Descole groan something incoherent before pressing his face further into Layton’s palm. For some reason, Layton smiled at that and let out a sigh. Who was showing affection in his sleep now?

This should have disturbed Layton to his very core. This should have sent him running by now. Instead, he was doing his own form of investigating. Well, one could hardly call touching a sleeping man’s face investigating. The fact that there was an uninvited man sleeping beside him—no, tangled in him—should have been terrifying. He had started off with the slightest hint of fright in his chest, but as soon as it registered in him that it was Descole . . . he really shouldn’t feel this comfortable with his rival. No, he shouldn’t. He was lying with a dangerous man, or rather the dangerous man had chosen to lie with him. That was a more perturbing thought.

And yet Descole had been the one to fall asleep beside the professor he saw as a competitor. The more relevant question Layton should be asking was why Descole felt so comfortable with _him_. He would do just that. Preparing to sit up, he lifted his hand from Descole’s face. When one of his fingertips hooked the mask, though, Descole came awake immediately. There was a growl and a flash of movement that Layton couldn’t quite catch in the darkness, but the result was the professor being pinned to the mattress with Descole straddling him and his hands held above his head. Had the thought of Luke possibly hearing the encounter not occurred to him, he might have shouted. Instead he found himself staring up into an enraged Descole’s face. “What do you think you’re doing?” the other man snarled out.

The irony of the situation dawned on Layton, and he found himself replying with, “I might ask the same of you.”

“Keep your fingers off my mask!” his rival ordered, pressing Layton’s hands further into the mattress.

“That was an accident. I was trying to wake you,” Layton admitted.

“Well you bloody succeeded!” Descole growled.

Then they were still, and Layton could just see the change in Descole’s face as they realized the sort of position they were in. Had it not been so dark, he guessed that his rival’s face might have displayed a deep shade of red. He didn’t release Layton, however. The professor remained pinned and straddled, and it was beginning to make him uncomfortable. “How . . . why are you . . . ?” he couldn’t finish. The position was too distracting and the question too awkward. He should be mortified. Truly, he should be. Granted, he was indeed unnerved, but not to the degree he felt he should be. Sighing, he rephrased, “Is there any particular reason why you were in my bed?”

Descole inhaled through his nose, his mouth curved downward into a discontented frown. His grip on Layton’s wrists loosened, then disappeared completely as he straightened up. Still sitting atop the professor, he grumbled, “You started it.”

Rubbing his wrists, a slightly baffled Layton replied, “I was asleep.”

“You grabbed my cape as I passed you by.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“You used it as a blanket and curled up with it. You’re lucky I didn’t yell and wake your apprentice.”

Layton folded his arms. “What are you doing watching me sleep anyway?”

“You should feel fortunate I don’t have another sedative with me.”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

Descole mimicked Layton’s gesture and crossed his arms as well. “No. I’m going to tap-dance. I’m doing research, and you’re interfering.”

One would think they would’ve gotten out of the position they were in by now, but it seemed that they were doomed to glare at one another with folded arms until someone mentioned it. It appeared neither one wanted to be the instigator of that conversation. Sighing again, Layton said, “So I theoretically grabbed and utilized your cape for something other than its intended purpose. How did you find yourself asleep beside me?” Layton actually felt the groan reverberating through Descole. Judging by that sound and the deepening of the just barely visible frown, he wasn’t at all comfortable admitting how they had come to be in the same bed together. Dropping the subject, Layton then asked, “Where have you hidden my hat this time?”

That dispelled some of the tension, but obviously not all of it. “Why would I tell you that?”

“Why indeed?” Layton was likely going to take twice as long to find it in the morning, especially if Descole decided to make things less pleasant for him.

“Professor?” 

The small voice outside of the closed door made both of them turn and look. Descole appeared completely nonchalant about the matter, but Layton’s heart came to a skidding halt at the thought of Luke walking in. “Is something the matter, Luke?”

“I heard a noise and thought something might be wrong.”

Descole’s face went from casual to mischievous in under one second as he began chuckling. Layton sat up as best he could and clapped his hand over Descole’s mouth. Grabbing his rival’s shoulder to hold himself steady, he answered Luke with, “Nothing’s wrong, my boy. Go back to bed.”

“Alright,” Luke uttered, shuffling away from the door.

Once Layton heard the door to the spare bedroom click shut, he released the breath he had been holding. A moment of inactivity passed, then the feeling of Descole’s tongue gliding over Layton’s palm made him gasp and pull away so quickly that he fell back onto the bed. Descole let free another discreet laugh as Layton glared up. Wiping his hand on his nightshirt, he asked, “Do you plan on getting off of me anytime soon?”

Descole hummed, as though he actually was considering just sitting on Layton for the rest of the night. Making a noise that suggested the question was greatly inconveniencing him, he answered, “I suppose I must.”

As his rival slid from the bed, placing unnecessary pressure on certain sensitive parts of Layton’s body, Layton uttered, “How long till you stop stalking my home? Have you not learned enough about me?”

Layton could almost hear the smile in Descole’s voice as the other man straightened up his clothing and responded, “We shall see.” Creeping silently over to the door, he tipped his hat and said, “Until next time, Layton.” 

“Don’t wake Luke again on your way out.”

“Oh please, Professor. Not even you heard me those nights ago, and you were wide awake and trying to catch me.” 

Instead of unnerving him, the comment irritated Layton. “Realize you’re only getting away with this because I trust that you won’t harm anyone, especially my assistant and my apprentice.”

With a haughty chuckle, Descole pulled his cape back on as he replied, “I’m getting away with this because I’m good at it. The only reason you even saw me that first time was because I let you. I had to. You were wasting your energy, and Professor Layton should be well-rested in order to face the trials that will inevitably be set out for him.” Opening the door without making a sound, he added, “Ultimately, I have no qualms with your chosen followers provided they don’t interfere. So long as that remains the case, they are indeed safe from my wrath.” That should have been reassuring to Layton, but the tone in Descole’s voice succeeded in setting him on edge this time. “Goodnight, Professor.”

As Descole escaped without making a single noise, the only thing that remained of him was the warmth in the sheets beside Layton. Laying a hand on the spot where Descole had been, Layton sighed. Before the incident last week, Layton and Descole were simply enemies. Descole was a threat, someone Layton should be wary of. It was strange how casually they were handling Descole’s abnormal interest in him. With Emmy and Luke, he’d gotten used to having people know more about him than he was comfortable with. Now he could add Descole to that list. Ten times he could add him to the list. Closing his eyes, he hoped he could go back to sleep without thinking of who might appear in his bedroom next. The thought made his skin crawl, but he still didn’t think he was reacting to this situation quite as violently as he should. Gentlemen were entitled to some privacy, and they were entitled to defend that privacy. However, his privacy was compromised and he wasn’t defending it. He didn’t even know how to begin to defend it now.

The next morning, Layton would find his hat inside one of the kitchen cupboards. The hiding place wasn’t as complex as he’d suspected, but inconvenient all the same. The only thing more inconvenient was the unshakable feeling of having arms wrapped around his shoulders even though no one was there.


End file.
